


A Lullaby

by absurdvampmuse



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOTAR - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23856985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absurdvampmuse/pseuds/absurdvampmuse
Summary: ACOMAF. Feyre/Rhysand. Takes place right after Feyre is whisked away from the Spring Court during her wedding. It is her first night away and her first night at the Night Court, and sleep doesn't come easy./“You are still you, Feyre darling.” He touched his fingers to her heart. “With your human heart and all.”In an unexpected maneuver, Feyre clasped his fingers with her own. “I see you too, Rhysand.” The words were a velvet whisper as they stroked a part of him that he showed only to the ones closest to him. It was incomprehensible yet fate at the same time./
Relationships: Feyre Archeron & Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Kudos: 54





	A Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to the book series or the characters. All I own is my imagination and laptop.
> 
> A/N: It's been a while since I've written anything fanfic related and I was inspired while re-reading the ACOTAR series. I hope you end up liking this. Please leave behind a comment? Thanks :)

**A Lullaby**

Feyre’s eyes had long adjusted to the darkness shrouding her bedroom as she lay in bed, her back facing the windows. The starlight dimmed yet not completely obscured by the gauzy white curtains that slightly swayed in the midnight breeze. It had been hours since she had stepped out of the bath, her honey tinted locks combed through and now cocooned on top of her head. Tamlin would prefer it down. In the beginning, when she would get ready for a day of painting, she would keep her hair up and out of her face with a pencil haphazardly shoved through the knot. A pencil that had become a routine to remove playfully from her hair the second she would set foot out of her makeshift studio by said High Lord. It was always done in a playful and teasing manner, but it was now a memory she questioned. If she was remembering it correctly or if its tone had indeed been determined by the rose-tinted glasses and ensuing emotions.

The tears had dried on her cheeks, leaving her eyes puffy and red, a reflection of how raw her heart and fragile her state of being felt. And it had been hours since she had crawled beneath the covers of a bed that should feel foreign and empty, but in fact felt like a safe haven. A fort of blankets that was just her own, where she was free to think and process freely now that she had time and space to do so. Her mind kept going in circles, slow ones that occupied her time in a torturous manner but also quick and vicious ones that didn’t help her at all.

The wedding and its fairytale setting that had been ruined by Rhysand when he had shown up. Although before that it hadn’t been right either. From the dress that made her appear as someone she didn’t want to be perceived as to the red petals. So incredibly bright and sharp, cutting through her vision painfully as they reminded her of spilled blood, untouched paint, rued choices, and blinded love. They were a wake-up call, a reality, an admonition. Tangible representations of her heart and the pieces it had broken into along the way. Her heart that Tamlin couldn’t heal.

Feyre sensed him before he had even set foot in the house, something inside of her so attuned to him that it made her catch her breath now that she had time to focus on the sensation. She unknowingly held her breath as she listened to his footsteps ascend the stairs, casual and languid until they faltered near her door as if making sure she was still there. Her heart ached and she exhaled, whispering his name as the air released. Seeing as how he had come when she had asked for help from another Court, Feyre knew he had heard her. Felt her. Sensed her from the inside out.

The door opened soundlessly, and he entered the room cautiously, head peeking in and his violet eyes seeking out her soft blue ones first. It was an action that was so out of character for him, for the person he had pretended and needed to be Under the Mountain where he had held on to the darkest parts of him and been forced to relish in it. Eyes had always been on him and the humanity he had been so drawn to within her, had always been something that he could not be affiliated with. Yet tonight his presence wasn’t as dark as the darkness she lay in, was within her.

“Sleep having trouble finding you?” he inquired while leaning back against the now closed door and pocketing his hands, fingers curling inwards as he practiced self-control and reigned in the anger he felt at the High Lord who was at the root of the distress and anguish she couldn’t keep from her features. “Or were you perhaps waiting up for me?” he added as a lighter touch, the corner of his mouth curving upwards in the faint smile he forced onto his face.

She didn’t engage in the banter he had set them up for, her eyes remaining lightless. “I can’t sleep,” she confessed as she shrugged up one of her shoulders, her index finger tracing shapes he couldn’t make out on her pillow. “I want to. I feel tired.”

“Ah, well I do have some suggestions on how we can make time pass more quickly and tire you out.”

“That was pretty tactless, even for you,” she reprimanded him softly, although there was no edge to her words, nor her usual fire.

He inclined his head in agreeance, lowering her eyes as he gave himself a moment to think about his next words. “Feyre darling, I –”

“I know I didn’t show it earlier,” she cut him off, “but I… I am grateful that you showed up when you did. I… it wasn’t…” She closed her eyes and took a breath, keeping them closed. “I wasn’t sure about it. The wedding. It wasn’t how I had imagined it. The feelings, what I was supposed to feel, it wasn’t here. Tamlin didn’t see it.”

“You know, just because you keep your eyes closed, doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen. The admittance or the whole runaway bride bit,” Rhysand said, taking a few steps towards the bed.

“Stolen away bride,” Feyre shot back while opening her eyes again and seeking out his. It was a halfhearted attempt, but it was an attempt at reaching for the lifeline he was holding out to her. In the same inexplicable and unprecedented way he had done so Under the Mountain.

“What did you do with the… dress?” Rhys spat out the word, the distaste barely masking the underlying emotions.

Feyre nodded in the general direction of the dresser and watched as Rhysand took the few calculated steps towards it, flicking the top drawer open without so much as touching it. “Morrigan would have me burn this atrocity of a garment,” he remarked over his shoulder, eyes roving over the piece of clothing that had been stuffed in the drawer the second she had stepped out of it. The zipper had been ripped in the process due to the feeling of panic that had momentarily seized her. “May I?” he asked, taking a hold of the dress with one hand.

Feyre nodded, relief settling something inside of her as she watched the white fabric disintegrate and disappear into thin air. “White isn’t your color to begin with,” he broke the silence, resolutely closing the drawer and re-pocketing his hand.

“It didn’t suit me,” she found herself agreeing with him out loud.

He turned his body slightly so he could throw her a sideways glance.

“He didn’t care. Not as much as he cared about his image, how people perceived me. If I fit the bill. He used to care,” she continued while twirling a strand of hair that was unable to be contained. “See my strength.”

“Strengths,” Rhys softly corrected her, now turning to look at her fully. “And those are still there. You are resilient. You will not be the damsel who falls as a result of a man’s behavior. Especially not due to him and his inability to see your true worth and value. You are an asset,” he finished, his eyes seemingly glowing in the dark.

Feyre opened her mouth as if to say something but found herself unable to form the words. She didn’t know what to believe about herself and how much of her self-worth was tied to Tamlin and the person that he had shaped her into. It had been a long time since her value had been determined by only her thoughts and opinions and nobody else’s. Still, something in her felt the need to stick up for the man who had stood by her side, who she had fought for. “He is a good man.”

“I’m sure he has those sides to him,” Rhys commented as neutrally as he could muster, for her sake, recognizing the sadness in her eyes and how deep it was rooted in her. “As do I.”

“I know,” she replied instantly, surprisingly meaning the words. “You don’t have to convince me. I see through you.” She flicked her fingers at him while her eyes found his in the dark again. “Through your darkness. Into the flickers of light amidst it.”

“That would make for a captivating painting.”

A sad wistful smile briefly pulled at her features and he moved closer to the bed, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. Out of habit he unbuttoned the top buttons of his jacket, the fingers of his other hand disappearing into his thick obsidian locks.

Stars twinkled in Feyre’s eyes as she observed his informal behavior. “I like you like this. Undone.” She pushed the covers further down and sat up a little straighter, leaning back against the headboard. “So, how much of it is an act, this menacing High Lord persona?”

“Ah, well, one could argue that it's premature to make such an inference of me considering you haven't spent any one on one time with me and therefore don’t know me well enough,” he pointed out matter-of-factly, leaning back on his hands as he positioned himself even more debonairly and much less intimidating.

With his ruffled hair, undone shirt, and relaxed demeanor he appeared as a mirror image of himself, although less distorted like she was given a true and unobstructed view of him. She felt prompted to contradict him, something within her needing validation that their moments together had added up after all. “We had that moment on the balcony. Right before you went home. The unguarded talks we had during Under the Mountain. Is it fair for me to assume that those count?” she asked, fingers pulling at the comforter just as he was unknowingly tugging at something within her, a pull that had been there from the very beginning.

Rhysand gave a single nod of his head, no longer concealing that she had his full attention. “And what version are you then? The belle of the ball, the fierce huntress, the valiant curse breaker…” he ticked off on his fingers.

“All of them. None of them.” Feyre shook her head, clasping her hands together in front of her. “I don’t know who I am. I have lost myself.”

“Well, then you are in the perfect place to fix that.”

“Even if you do say yourself,” Feyre muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Rhysand brought an index finger to his mouth, eyes twinkling and matching the stars she could make out behind the curtains. “While not as colorful as your Spring Court, you do have the freedom to roam wherever you please, eventually anyway. Once I know that me and my kin can trust you not to run back through the flowers and tell your domineering Big Bad Wolf that is,” he added with a click of his tongue, chuckling as he caught the pillow Feyre hurled at him. He signaled at the space around them. “You can learn to read…”

Feyre lowered her eyes in shame and at the memory of the trial she had almost failed at and the person she had almost lost in the process.

“But you didn’t,” he reminded her, his tone loud and forceful. Her eyes shot up, tears causing them to shimmer as he went on. “You can paint to your heart’s content, hang out and do girly nonsense with Mor, hunt, dance…”

“While you go out and leave me to it?”

“If you wish to be alone. And I have to admit that I’d prefer to leave the girly nonsense to Mor, but if you asked me to then I think I could muster the willpower to stick around. Any excuse to ogle you while you and Mor go lingerie shopping after which you will proceed to have sleepovers in it, as that is what girly nonsense entails.”

“Naturally”.

He offered her a coy, some would even say a devilish smirk before throwing the pillow back at her, which she caught and hugged to her chest, her eyes big and doe-like as she asked, “Why?”

“To make you smile. To make you happy. To allow me a glimpse of the person I have come to know Under the Mountain. Not the persona but the woman beneath. Who shared her tears, ferocity and heart in those brief moments in the darkness.”

“What if this is who I am for a little while?” She gestured at herself, at the messy bun, tear-stained eyes, and empty heart.

He watched and observed the vulnerability she was openly sharing with him. His movements would have been too fast for her to follow if she had still been only human, but now she tracked them as Rhys straightened only to lean towards her. “You are still you, Feyre darling.” He touched his fingers to her heart. “With your human heart and all.”

In an unexpected maneuver, Feyre clasped his fingers with her own. “I see you too, Rhysand.” The words were a velvet whisper as they stroked a part of him that he showed only to the ones closest to him. It was incomprehensible yet fate at the same time.

Unable to hold himself back, he shifted forwards even further, lips feather-light as they brushed against her cheek. “Why don’t you try to fall asleep now?”

His intent was to pull away instantaneously, but she unclasped their fingers and touched them to his raven colored strands, gently holding him close to her for a few seconds more.

“Sleep well, Feyre,” were his parting words as she dropped her hands and he got up from the bed.

He waited until she had snuggled back beneath the covers before leaving the room and closing the door behind him, leaving behind the final notes of the song he had sent into her cell Under the Mountain, like a lullaby.


End file.
